I'm writing this letter to friend or foe
A note about why I must go
I'll need you to clean out my mess
My room, my car, and what I've left
The little pieces of my life
That never indicated strife
Something was just a bit too much
So I had to leave in a bit of a rush
And I don't think I've let on too late
I don't think I've made a mistake
But I won't need you to pity me
For that, it's late, to some degree
I've made my mind once and then twice
I have enough to pay the price
The cost I've covered, but for you
There is just one small thing to do
Tell anyone that asks of me
That I always spoke of them fondly
So good day and with that, good night
I'm tired and turning off the light

I want to cry in a scarlet robe
A vestment of my own demise
I want to trickle into tears
My soul drip out right through my eyes

To empty out into the streets
This body that was never grand
And flow away with ***** rain
And stain the mother earth and land

An uneventful, empty death
A toast to all my useless life
The sting of nothingness quite felt
For nothing wields a lonely knife

Goodbyes bygones from other days
I was a lie that came and went
When life and death were cards to cheat
And not dull guests at the main event

just peel it, peel it,
carefully
the fruit, it's tender skin

just take the scent in
gratefully
before you bite right in

that perfect ripeness
luckily
the flavor is just right

then clean the mess up
thoroughly
and bury him by tonight

you're just too **** fine
like burgundy wine
from fruit that's been plucked
from the choicest of vine

and your blood runs so young
like the taste on your tongue
and the smell on your lips
is the air from your lungs

you're just too **** good
for this neighborhood
I'd pack up and go
Any place that you would

So let's run away
I'll sing and you play
We'll hit it so big
We'll party all day

A soul can want to be alone, more than anything at all
A heart can love a loneliness more than a lover's fall
To baste and marinate the mind in lonely interlude
And lick the fingers, one by one, in sultry solitude

A soul can want desertion more than anything it knows
More than the strong devotion of the lover that it chose
More than a true companion or a hand to hold at night,
A life can long to be alone against all wrong or right

What isn't you that beckons me when I do hear you call?
What calls me from some far-away to turn from you at all?
The love I give to you has seemed enough to fill your life
What thing calls out to me by name and cuts me like a knife?